


Let it Linger

by deafpool (castielsass)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Humor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Sexual Humor, Smut, Soft Dom Aziraphale, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), bad at sex, oversensitivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 08:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19943149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsass/pseuds/deafpool
Summary: “-Or the park is always so lovely this time of year. We could get iced coffees from that new stand,” Crowley offered and Aziraphale fiddled with his buttons fussily.“We could,” he agreed. There was silence for a moment, and Crowley crossed one leg over the other, kicking his foot against the desk.“Or we could-” Crowley started, and Aziraphale gasped, and spun a quarter-turn away from him, like a maiden in a panto.“You fiend! We couldn’t possibly...” Aziraphale started, and then turned back, and leaned in a little. “Oh, alright, well, if you insist,” he said, and started up the stairs, quite without Crowley.“I didn’t-” Crowley started, and Aziraphale gave him a dark look from halfway up the stairs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a spiritual successor to Blackbirds Mate for Life. Although you don’t need to read that before this, it gives it more context.

“Alright,” Crowley said. He flopped onto the couch, and clapped his hands in a way that always privately reminded Aziraphale of an overexcited, if slightly goth schoolteacher.* “It’s your turn to pick. Shall we go for a walk? It’s a lovely day,” he said, and gestured at the outside, where the sun was baking the road into a soft flat sheen. “Or we could go to the aquarium, you always get such a kick out of those weird crabs.”

(*It is important to note here that Aziraphale is not entirely sure of what a Goth is.) 

“They do little dances,” Aziraphale said fondly, thinking of the smallish fiddler crab he’d seen a few decades away that had darted back and forth in front of a plant as they’d watched it. They’d gone to lunch after. Aziraphale’d had an excellent coq au vin, and Crowley had insisted on ordering a crab bisque with a smug, devilish look directed at Aziraphale over his sunglasses, but then hadn’t been able to bring himself to eat it. He’d pushed it around sullenly, and glared at Aziraphale. 

“-Or the park is always so lovely this time of year. We could get iced coffees from that new stand,” Crowley offered and Aziraphale fiddled with his buttons fussily. 

“We could,” he agreed. There was silence for a moment, and Crowley crossed one leg over the other, kicking his foot against the desk. 

“Or we could-” Crowley started, and Aziraphale gasped, and spun a quarter-turn away from him, like a maiden in a panto. 

“You fiend! We couldn’t possibly...” Aziraphale started, and then turned back, and leaned in a little. “Oh, alright, well, if you insist,” he said, and started up the stairs, quite without Crowley. 

“I didn’t-” Crowley started, and Aziraphale gave him a dark look from halfway up the stairs. 

_“If you insist,”_ he said firmly, and Crowley nodded, a touch harder and more agreeably than he’d meant to, and followed him. 

“Again?” Crowley said, once they’d reached the bedroom, miraculously clean and airy, though they’d only left it an hour before. 

“Again,” Aziraphale said, and shut the door behind Crowley decisively. “Or, rather, I mean, if you-”

“Again,” Crowley agreed, and reached out. “We’re getting rather good at this, aren’t we?” Crowley said, but Aziraphale didn’t answer, mouth otherwise occupied with soft, gentle kisses down Crowley’s throat. 

\--:::------::------------------->◇<\--------------------::------:::-----:::------::------------------->◇<\--------------------::------:::-----:::------::-- 

“Ah, fuck,” Crowley said, elegantly, and Aziraphale laughed at him, his hands lovely and warm around his hips. Crowley frowned at him faintly. They'd had this discussion, they'd both sat down and held cups of tea like normal people and Crowley hadn't turned into a snake _once._ They'd hmmed and hawed and drank their tea and Crowley had said, Quite Reasonably, that they tended to be a bit quick about things, didn't they, and Aziraphale had sipped and said There Was No Harm in Taking it Slow, and they'd both agreed, and drank their tea, and fallen into bed, and finished in three minutes. Better than they'd managed before, Aziraphale had pointed out, but Crowley had thrown his hands over his face quite dramatically and hadn't seemed comforted by it one bit.

\--:::------::------------------->◇<\--------------------::------:::-----:::------::------------------->◇<\--------------------::------:::-----:::------::--

“Alright, nice and slow, we can do this-“ Crowley started, but he was treacherously betrayed by his own body, which he couldn’t quite seem to convince to slow down. Aziraphale ignored him, had softly slid his plump lips over the burning heat of his cheek and Crowley came, cursing in irritation. Aziraphale kissed him anyway. 

“Bless it!” He swore, and Aziraphale nodded into his throat, while still riding out his own orgasm. 

“We have to get better at this,” Crowley said finally, as he lifted his shaking legs down from around Aziraphale’s soft hips. “Millions of humans out there, screwing every which way and they can do it just fine, but we-” 

“I know, dear,” said Aziraphale, contemplative, as he only half-listened to Crowley.

“Two minutes,” Crowley said mournfully. “That’s just embarrassing.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it was much longer than that,” Aziraphale said, but he didn’t sound very convinced. 

“Whether it was or it wasn’t, the point remains,” Crowley snarled. He gestured violently between both of them and Aziraphale blinked at him lazily. “We are not _good_ at this!”

“We’re not _bad_ at it,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, although he sounded quite unconvinced now. He rolled over onto his back and Crowley threw his legs down grumpily, smacking the sheets and making them poof up with air. 

“We’re amateurs,” Crowley said, mournfully. He turned slightly and elbowed Aziraphale, who looked mildly irritated. “We just need to get better.”

“To appease...whom exactly?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley gestured to the world at large. 

“I just won’t have it,” Crowley snapped, a decisive air around him. Aziraphale wondered faintly if he had time to fit in a quick nap, but Crowley wasn’t finished. “I’ve been in love with you for longer than any of them ever even lived, it’s not fair that they get to be _Better at it_!” 

“I’m rather enjoying myself,” Aziraphale pointed out, more to be contrary than anything else. Crowley was so fun when he was riled. 

“That’s not the point!”

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” Aziraphale needled, and Crowley glowered at him. Aziraphale stretched lazily, and enjoyed the pop and spread of his muscles. He worked his heels into the mattress, enjoyed the cool sheets.

“Obviously,” he hissed, tone like cracking ice. “That is the problem.”

“Is it really a problem?” Aziraphale asked, rather entertained. 

“It’s not fair,” Crowley insisted. “They’re out there-“ he started, and gestured violently at the window and further, the miscellaneous lovers out in the world. 

“Who is?”

“People, angel! Couples!” 

“What, in the road?” Aziraphale asked, doubtfully. 

Crowley, who rather adeptly knew he was being mocked, didn’t deign to respond.

“-out there, rolling about in the hay, for hours at a time-“

“I don’t think anyone says rolling about in the hay anymore,” Aziraphale said. 

“-and we can barely make it up the stairs before it’s over! It’s just not fair,” Crowley said, rather sulkily. 

“We make it up the stairs,” Aziraphale said, but uncertainly. 

“Barely,” Crowley hissed. 

“Barely still counts,” Aziraphale said, inspecting his fingernails and considering a manicure. Crowley sat up abruptly, with a determined sort of look about him. 

“I get it,” Crowley said, smacking Aziraphale's thigh for emphasis. “Ooh, that’s it! We’re not bad at it, we just need practice! That’s what it is! The people, the couples, they were like this too, of course,” Crowley comforted himself, but he wasn’t quite as entertaining when he comforted himself so Aziraphale gave into the temptation to irritate him a bit. 

“Like what?” He asked, and Crowley scowled at him. 

“Like they barely get a hand on them and they lose their minds like pleasure-starved monsters,” Crowley snapped crudely, which made Aziraphale blush and wave a hand at him in turns, as though physically begging him to stop, but he laughed anyway.

“Practice,” Crowley said decisively. “That’s it. Alright, you got one more in you?”


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale was hot, and soft, pleasant to lean against. Crowley relaxed into his embrace, his soft, well-worn clothes scratching lightly over his exposed skin. Aziraphale had rolled up his sleeves neatly, fussing with the cuffs until they’d stayed still before he’d taken Crowley into his lap to touch him. Crowley held one of Aziraphale’s wrists lightly, his hand clenching and releasing in spasms and Aziraphale worked his hand back and forth, gently, his careful hands warm as he stroked his cock and fingered him slowly. 

His fingers were slick, and careful, caressing cleverly. Crowley’s knees, spread by Aziraphale’s easy, open legs, trembled lightly. Aziraphale kissed the back of his neck easily, and allowed Crowley to lean his head back to rest on his shoulder. The room was heating up, stifling hot, until Aziraphale took his left hand off Crowley’s cock for a moment to wave at the window, letting in a cool breeze. He moved back swiftly, though he huffed a small laugh into the back of Crowley’s neck at the sad noise he’d made. Aziraphale’s fingers were long, and thick, and gentle, so very gentle, but determined to massage every drop of pleasure out of Crowley as he stroked his prostate. 

Crowley’s orgasm felt like sinking into a hot bath, slow and luxurious and lighting every atom of his being up with pleasure. He couldn’t even speak, or scream, or moan with the intensity of it, only shiver and ride Aziraphale’s hands and come, and come, and come, for so long he thought he might black out before he finished. 

Slowly, it receded, achingly slowly, leaving every bit of him feeling wrung out, like his whole body had been well-used and well-blessed and well taken care of. Aziraphale released him finally, stroking come-slick hands lovingly down his sensitive inner thighs and Crowley convulsed under one last, very tardy aftershock. 

He slumped forward, boneless, landing on his face. He could feel his hot, sweating body sticking to the cool sheets, his face, then hot pink chest, then his still-dripping cock, his legs akimbo behind him. 

He panted into the sheets, the white cotton puffing up in front of his mouth. 

“-but was that good sex?” Asked Aziraphale above him, with the same manner of a man who had completed a very neat new trick and wanted to pretend it had come to him naturally.

“Ughhhhhhhhhhh,” Crowley said into the sheets, which hasn’t been what he’d meant to say at all. His toes cramped from curling reflexively. His bent leg finally flipped down, his foot bouncing on the mattress. 

Aziraphale caught his leg before it could join the other, and held his slim ankle in neat, lovely hands, and Crowley had a moment to realize that Aziraphale’s hands were still wet with lubricant and come before he grabbed Crowley’s other ankle and flipped him, easily. Crowley landed with a ‘whump’ on his back, Aziraphale looking at him, still holding his ankles gently. 

“Hrmm,” Crowley said, agreeably. He didn’t know what he was agreeing to, but he felt in a deeply agreeable sort of mood. 

“Just out of curiosity,” Aziraphale was saying, somehow still talking, Crowley didn’t know how on earth he was still talking, he felt as though his orgasm was so long and intense, it had to have radiated outwards, somehow. “I suppose, marks out of ten?”

“Marks out of ten?” Crowley repeated. Aziraphale’s cock was hard, and his clothes were doing a dreadful job of hiding how aroused he was. There was a tiny shadow, a very slight darkening where the head of his cock had to be pressing against his pale trousers. 

“Just, you know, it being that we are so untalented at this, and we clearly need to practice what is apparently just a skill, so, marks out of ten?” Aziraphale was somehow still talking, and Crowley wondered if it was wetness, or a shadow at the crotch of his trousers, right at the tip of his cock, if he pressed his tongue to Aziraphale’s trousers would he taste it, where it had pressed forward from the constraints of his underwear. 

“Marks,” Crowley agreed, since Aziraphale seemed so intent on talking about such absolute nonsense. He wiggled, shifted his thighs apart, and attempted to lounge in a seductive sort of way. 

“Out of ten,” Aziraphale repeated, but came no closer and Crowley gave up on lounging, and slipped two fingers into his belt buckle, and dragged Aziraphale closer, close enough that the soft material of his trousers pressed up against his over-heated skin. 

“Ten,” Crowley said, only barely listening as he undid Aziraphale’s buttons, and pulled his cock out. He’d been right, he realised with a delighted little shiver, it was precome at the head of his cock. 

Aziraphale had gotten so hard holding Crowley on his lap, and giving him pleasure that he’d leaked into his own trousers.

He dragged Aziraphale forward by the hip with one hand, and pushed Aziraphale’s cock inside with the other. It ground deeper inside him, Aziraphale finally getting with him, sliding in the lubricant. 

“-just, because of course, it’s like an instrument,” Aziraphale said and Crowley squinted up at him in confusion. “Sex. It can’t just be a natural expression of love between two beings, it’s a competition, somehow, and we need to beat the rest of the world,” Aziraphale said and Crowley finally understood what in the hell he was on about, even as his cock glided over Crowley’s prostate, delivering a sharp, pleasurable peak of overstimulation. 

“If your aim was to prove me wrong, angel, you’ve done a thoroughly awful job of making me regret anything,” Crowley rumbled, and smirked up at him. 

“Not yet,” Aziraphale said lightly, and Crowley was reminded of how much of a bastard he truly was when his slick hand encircled his cock once more. 

“I can’t,” Crowley said, but he raised one eyebrow at Aziraphale, and slid his hands up his soft hips anyway. 

“You can,” Aziraphale said pleasantly, as though he was encouraging Crowley to try a new dessert, one he was certain he’d enjoy. He stroked his cock, long and slow and tight, and rubbed the soft pad of his thumb into the come and slick at the tip.

“Uerf,” Crowley said. Aziraphale rocked into him, the long thick heat of his cock filling him up, stroking his prostate firmly. Crowley’s fingertips tingled, his legs trembled. 

“You can, once more, for me,” Aziraphale said, and against all odds, Crowley was getting hard again, as Aziraphale’s soft hand massaged and rubbed him. 

“I can’t,” Crowley whined, although it became more and more apparent he could, indeed, if Aziraphale would only keep stroking him so slick and tight, and keep fucking him right at that angle where he sank inside so deep his generous hips pushed Crowley’s thighs apart effortlessly. 

“You can,” Aziraphale said, comfortingly, and Crowley heaved in a breath, arousal gaining traction and sizzled hot and intense in his pelvis. 

“I can?” Crowley repeated, and Aziraphale pressed him down, pinned him into the mattress in the way that makes Crowley’s cock twitch. He barely looked out of breath, his face flushed, but he was still clothed, only his hard cock pulled out of his neat trousers as he fucked Crowley. 

“Once more, my dearest,” Aziraphale said softly, kindly, as though he was supporting Crowley through something someone else is doing to him. “I know you can, love, you are so wonderful for me, always so wonderful,” Aziraphale said and Crowley’s cock hurt, but he was so hard, he was empty, he had no more to give, but Aziraphale kept taking him anyway. His angle was cruel, the way he forced Crowley open, and rutted against his most sensitive spots. 

“Oh, fuck, ‘Zira,” Crowley said, surprisingly coherently, before his orgasm hit him like a smack, and he clenched down so tight Aziraphale couldn’t even move. Crowley’s cock twitched weakly, the tiny pool of come that drooled out belying the intensity of his orgasm. 

Aziraphale cooed at him, like he’d done something wonderful, and Crowley hurt, his hole clenched and released in spasms, his cock pink and over-sensitive and still leaking come, his nipples bitten red and swollen. Aziraphale came, and scratched his sides, and looked over his body, while Crowley scrabbled at his back, dragged him in closer. 

Aziraphale let out a satisfied sigh, followed by a soft contented noise like he hasn’t just spoiled Crowley, irreparably and forever for anyone else, like he hadn’t ruined him. 

“Have you proven your point, then?” Crowley asked, and only realized how harsh and scratchy his voice is after the fact. 

Aziraphale made a faintly satisfied noise, and embarrassingly, Crowley’s cock gives a final, weak twitch. He pulled his legs up self consciously, but he was so over-sensitive that he couldn’t curl up, and his hands shook too hard. Aziraphale reached out, petted his hair like he was something cherished. 

“I think so,” Aziraphale said, confidently. “What do you think?” 

Crowley blinked at him, and looked down at them both, the picture they make, Aziraphale still dressed, his cock neatly slipped back into his trousers, the only hint of something untoward was the blush across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, and the faint damp shadow of lubricant in the cradle of his pelvis. Crowley was red, and purple and bitten all over, multiple orgasms worth of come spattered over his own naked body, while more leaked from inside him. Aziraphale’s fingers had left little bruises in obscene places, high up on his thigh, on his ass, his hips. He could feel faint stubble burn inside his thighs and on his face. His mouth was swollen, kissed plump. 

“Well,” he said. “At least one of us is rather naturally talented,” but Aziraphale knew him too well, and narrowed his eyes at him. 

“I suppose _you’ll_ just have to keep practising,” Crowley said cheerfully, and rolled over to nap. 

Hours later, Aziraphale was deep into a book beside him in bed. Crowley had awoken from a nasty dream, feeling faintly worried. He scratched at the pillow nervously, and he could feel Aziraphale rest his book on his chest, the way the bed moved slightly as Aziraphale adjusted himself beside him. He didn’t turn to face him. 

“You’re not really upset, right?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale rolled into him, hugged him closer. 

“No, my love,” he said and Crowley exhaled softly. “That’s hardly how I’d choose to show my displeasure, anyway.” 

“No, I know,” Crowley assured him. “Just wanted to make sure,” he said, and felt much better, and to demonstrate this, he turned into a very large, dark snake on top of Aziraphale. 

“Oh, really-!” Aziraphale huffed, but he held Crowley, still. Crowley wound around him, a long, cool, hefty weight and Aziraphale petted his flat head gently. He shook the end of his tail, which he’d turned into a rattle to amuse Aziraphale and made him laugh, his body giving soft little heaves. Crowley went back to rest, and tucked his head into the dark space between Aziraphale’s arm and ribs. 

“Good night, sweetheart,” Aziraphale said quietly, and he picked his book back up, rested it on a coil of snake. Crowley hissed at him, and gave his tail one final gentle shake, and he went to sleep, and warmed himself on Aziraphale’s overly hot form. Aziraphale felt himself cool pleasantly, so much so that he might be able to sleep tonight, through this wretched heatwave. He turns a page and stroked Crowley’s head once more.


End file.
